Almost Human
by Wiccacow
Summary: Humanstuck AU henceforth called Clarity in which Psi is a serial killer, and Dualscar an accomplice who has fallen for him. In this particular fic, Dualscar utilizes a mix of sex and torture to bring the ultimate pleasure to Psi Warnings: Torture, blood, manslash, gore, murder, smut smut smut.


**Summary:** Humanstuck AU henceforth called Clarity in which Psi is a serial killer, and Dualscar an accomplice who has fallen for him. In this particular fic, Dualscar utilizes a mix of sex and torture to bring the ultimate pleasure to Psi

**Warnings: **Torture, blood, manslash, gore, murder, smut smut smut.

-

The chorus of broken bones was a sweet serenade to my senses, a sweet soliloquy to our synchronous sinister synergy. Bright red arterial blood splattered and swirled with the sanguine venous life spilled on slender hands. His sleek focused features and smoldering secretive eyes sought mine, and no doubt he sees the joy there. But his recognition of it was hollow.

I feel closest to him when sharing victims. Strangely enough, it was the participation in the least humane of acts that made Psi behave most human. His eyes would light up, lips tugging at the corners. Some of it was automatic habit, I knew, but there was a kernel of something genuine when he was dealing in the business of stealing a life.

But it was my turn, the victim was mine. As much as I prefer to keep a clean practice, the way his face changes when he sees blood, when he touches it… I swear I can see the pulse beating against his neck. My own adrenaline spikes. I break another one of my victim's fingers, delighting in the screams. I hear his breath hitch behind me, and a flush creeps along my neck. I swallow with nervous excitement, I twist the snapped digit in my grasp, the throaty scream nearly birthing a throaty moan in me. My anticipation is warm on my tongue, and soon as I continue to snip and crush I find myself unable to hold back any longer. With crimson fingertips I clutch Psi's hands, pinning his delicate wrists above his head. I seize his lips with mine, grazing them with my tongue. The smell of rusted metal engulfs my nostrils, his mouth tasting of honeyed cough drops. The smells conflict in a strange miasma, but somehow providing a perfect sensory backdrop to my arousal.

Under normal circumstances his reciprocation was passive. His moves would be calculated, his eyes never closing to saturate the pleasure as a normal person's does. He felt the pleasure; discussion had told me that much. But it was only his loins that were warmed, not his mind. Not his heart. His heart was unobtainable, to myself or anyone else. A clearer way to put it would be to say he had no heart at all; he had no way of understanding the ache in my chest, the desperate longing. Perhaps he was blessed, to be unable to feel this kind of pain. These thoughts and others I pushed out of my mind, instead pushing my body against his. Under normal circumstances he might have pulled me closer. But these were not normal circumstances, and for a short while he would be putty in my hands. His breathing is ragged, and when I open my eyes, I can see him watching our victim. Naturally I feel a small pang of jealousy that is it not me he looks at, but all the same I understand. I allow him a better view by moving my lips to his neck, teething the visible pulse. I feel his forearms flexing, and he is no doubt digging his fingernails into his palms. My free hand snakes below his cheap wifebeater - he always wears cheap clothes on a hunt. Clothes he won't miss.

With that flickering epiphany I smirk, bite his neck moderately, clutching at and tearing the fabric. He growls like an animal, a tell-tale sign of his murderous excitement. While the sound widens my blood vessels, dilates my pupils, I know I should be cautious. He has nearly killed me once before when I got him riled up. I leave his throat alone, avoiding that vital area for the foreseeable future. I gnaw on his clavicle, drag my tongue along his jaw line. He lets out a shaky breath, twitching and squirming. It is exhilarating. I don't want him to leave that peak, so let go of him, returning to the victim. This time I snap off and extract a tooth. A long and very messy business, but for my partner I do it, adding a fresh shade to the dried remains of previous assaults. The victim begins sobbing, a most pleasing result. But it is not enough.

Before returning to my other quarry I plunge my thumb into his eye-socket, the sobs and screams mixing together in a wonderful oratory brew. Psi hasn't moved from the wall. His gaze is still on the victim, and I can see him vibrating with excitement. His eyes flicker to me, to my red hands. I take his mouth into mine again, clutching his arms, smearing maroon streaks on his sheer skin. He shivers and moans gently into my mouth. The blood does more for him than I ever could. I kiss him softly, to contrast the pure animalistic desire we've been exercising, but he's having none of it. I yelp with the sharp pain, his teeth sinking into my lip. For a moment I fear he will chew right through it, but he stops to lap at the blood. I cannot stifle a whimper, though in spite of the sound I am aroused further. I let him lick my wounds, snaking my hands along the hem of his pants. Behind me the victim gags on his own blood, still sobbing. In front of me Psi invades my mouth, the taste of iron prominent. His hands edge around my waist, holding our hips together. I can feel the stiffness tugging at the fabric, both from himself and from I. His gray and black eyes watch me like a predator, staying open even as I have trouble doing the same, moans living and dying in my vocal chamber. He grinds against me, amplifying my vocalizations. I try to slip out of his grasp, to cause one last pain to the victim, but his grip is strong. Upon sensing my attempt to escape he spins me around, pinning myself against the wall, one hand on my chest pushing hard. I can neither move nor tell him to stop, not that I would want to.

The hand is removed, allowing me to breathe easy, and sets to work on removing my clothes. I've never seen him this eager. His removal of only the necessary clothes tells of his haste, of his relinquishing perfect control. It was terrifying and enthralling in the same moment. He tears my shirt, hands slinking over my muscles, their sculpture the result of a lot of personal attention. He then sets about pulling down my pants, yanking them off one leg but not bothering with the other. My erection is plain, but he doesn't acknowledge it directly. From my hands he takes some of the wet blood, smearing it along my thighs, his breath hitching as he looks me over. I feel wonderful, desired. I feel powerful, even as I am powerless. He unbuckles his belt and I am wrapped in anticipation, desiring what lies hidden there. My member is throbbing almost painfully by the time he lines his hips up with mine, the flushed head of his sex pressing against my entrance. I expected him to thrust in quickly, but he moves slow, ever so slow. He hooks his arm around my bare leg, lifting it up. I lean back against the wall, craning my head back. It's uncomfortable, the pressure, but I know it will be better soon. I let out my held breath as he buries himself fully inside of me, reveling in the sensation.

Immediately after he picked up the pace in a grand way. I have never seen him quite as energetic, fucking me without abandon right off the bat. Even now his eyes do not close, remaining on me, on the blood on my stomach, hands, and mouth. I nibble on my wounded lip, pressing both hands on the wall behind me to relieve some of the pressure on my spine. On my other leg I'm standing on the tips of my toes, my whole leg shaking as he rams into me. He hasn't quite found the sweet spot, though I doubt he is in his right mind to look. Mismatching eyes connect with mine right as he thrusts into me with special force, eliciting a pleasurable scream from me. "H-hah, ha-harder!" I gasp, and he obliges. I can no longer stand on my one leg, and with some maneuvering my legs are hooked around his waist, both of his hands gripping my ass tight as he bounces me in his suspended lap. It feels amazing, and I show it with my voice, moans singing praises to the pleasure. I can feel saliva collecting in my mouth, and to my embarrassment I believe I am drooling a bit. Psi kisses me deeply, swallowing my vocalizations, the sound of skin connecting with skin and the thick feeling of him inside sending my head spinning. He isn't particularly well-endowed – under-endowed, even - but he is enough to interact with my prostate.

As my screams get louder I can feel him losing steam, and not from exhaustion. I have seen him run marathons, I know he isn't tired. He's losing excitement. He realizes this better than I do, and pulls me away from the wall. With a calculated suddenness he has me on the ground, right in front of our victim, whose sobs are near-silent now. He grabs one of my knives, and I watch as he brings it down on victim's foot. The victim howls with fiery pain, blood pooling out of the severed halves of the appendage. Psi's body is taken by a violent shiver, and with more strength than necessary he flips me over onto my stomach. The blood slowly creeps towards us as he lines up behind me, raising my hips. I moan into the floor as he pounds into me from behind, legs shaking with the extreme stimulus. Normally he is quite mechanical, but right now he feels completely natural. It his element. Occasionally inbetween my own sounds I hear him grunting, panting, moaning softly. He dips a hand into the growing pool of blood, raising the hand and letting it pour down his arm, then holding out the limb to watch the blood drip onto my back, exposed by the pushing of garments. I can see his arm over my shoulder, but without seeing the blood connect to my skin I almost feel convinced it is semen, and my member hardens more than it already had.

With rough movements he spreads my legs further, and I can feel him leaving bloody handprints behind. The blood straight from the victim tickles my elbow, but I can't exactly move out of its path. As it threatens to touch my face I lift my upper body onto the palms of my hands. I can see my reflection in the red surface, see my face as I moan closer to the floor. "F-fuck! A-ah, fuck m-me!" I breathe. I always curse as I approach climax. Psi spurrs faster, and I moan harder. "Ooooooh! Ah! Ah! Fuck!" I bite my wounded lip, cursing into the blood. I can feel my member dripping, and for a moment I'm curious as to what cum and blood look like mixed together. Perhaps I will take a moment to look when we're done. I hear his breathing pick up behind me, I know he is close. I am close too, but not close enough. I put my weight on one elbow, the other hand snaking between my legs and pumping my swollen member. My face is close to the blood, and I shove to of my fingers into my mouth, needing an oral fix that cigarettes have ingrained in me. I suck on them, moaning around them as I pump myself faster, rocking my hips back to connect with his. The head of his penis hits my prostate over and over, getting bullseyes, making the heat coil in my loins. Everything about my body tightens in anticipation of the orgasm.

He cums a moment before I do, but the feeling of his warm seed filling me up as he gives those final hard thrusts is enough to tip me over the edge. My throat feels raw as I let out a haggard yell, my entire body jerking. I'm unable to hold myself up, and find myself dropping to my forearms, some blood splashing on my face. All too soon he is pulling out of me with a wet sound, and I witness him pick the knife back up. He stands in front of the victim and does not hesitate to rip the blade along his throat, blood spraying out like a high-powered sprinkler. Most of it gets on Psi, but some gets on me. Psi is utterly silent, standing muted watch as the victim gurgles and dies, blood still bubbling and pooling from the wound. I pull my pants back on and stand beside him, but I am looking to Psi, not the fresh corpse. His face is marveling at the sight, and it brings a smile to my face to see the serenity there. I would not say he was happy, but the closest to it he could ever be. Knowing I am responsible for that warms my heart.

I let him have his private wonder, leaving to start cleaning up our tools, our things. Our clothes will have to be disposed of with the body, which I can hear Psi starting to chop up as soon as the serendipity starts to lose its edge. Eventually they're all in garbage bags and Psi looks as neutral as he ever does when not engaged, only his eyes are still bright. I can't help but chuckle, grasping him by the shoulder. "Come. Let's get cleaned up."

He nods dumbly and follows my lead, his muscles completely and utterly lax. As per usual I guide him to the tub, filling it with warm water. There is a lot of blood, and it always takes ages to scrub off. But the ritual is worth it to hear the small things he utters under soft breaths, to hear the monster completely relax and become almost human.

I am Donovin Ampora, and I am in love with a serial killer.

**A/N: **This is an AU that may or may not be explored further. If it is, the fics will likely be posted separately since order will pretty much be disregarded when writing.


End file.
